Remembering the details: How could I have been so wrong?

Over the last few years whenever I looked at this photo of Christopher with his full chubby cheeks and his round belly sitting with my sister Elizabeth on the blanket in our backyard, I felt such sadness in my heart.  Sheer pain ripped through me with each glance. Until just last week, I thought I had remembered the day so clearly.  Now I wonder, how could I have been so wrong? 

It was August of 2001 when my younger sister, Elizabeth, came from Colorado to spend time with us after Christopher was discharged from the hospital.  Three weeks earlier, on July 23, our seemingly healthy three-year old was diagnosed with leukemia.  Every moment thereafter was a struggle to live in this new space – a place I never visited even in my darkest nightmares.  Kidnapping was always a fear.  Cancer? Never.   

With each day, our hearts broke a little further as the life-saving treatment took effect on our child’s body.   His naturally skinny and energetic body became round and fatigued from all the steroids and chemo.

“Mommy, can I go upstairs and rest in my bed?” Christopher asked during dinner one evening the week after he came home from the hospital. I turned to him, my face full of anguish and said, “We can go with you.”   “No Mommy. It’s okay.  Stay with Ryan,” he said as he pushed the wooden chair back and climbed out of his booster seat.

Walking became difficult so often Christopher would just lie on the couch.  Eventually I had to carry him the few feet from the kitchen to the living room.  He didn’t even have the energy to fight with his little brother, Ryan. 

Over the years, the image of this photo would appear in my mind from time to time and I would wince internally. Then last week while rummaging through some old journals, I found an entry that described the day the photo was taken. 

I realized that my overall pain had overshadowed the reality of the day.  It wasn’t a day of sadness and suffering, but rather the first time in weeks that Christopher felt strong.  Here is the journal entry from that summer day:

Christopher is so cute – he has full chubby cheeks and they jiggle when he laughs and he laughed a lot today.  At lunch time, he suggested, “Mommy let’s go on a picnic in the backyard.” Elizabeth laid out a sheet on the grass in front of the jungle gyms and we carried our lunch of sandwiches, animal crackers and juice boxes outside. Later, Christopher said, “Let’s take a walk.”   We only got as far as the driveway, but still he wanted to go out.  I love the fact that despite all that Christopher is going through, he is still the same little boy.

Wow, what a difference.  My memory was incorrect on almost every account.  Somehow my brain recalled only the harsh side effects of the treatment and forgot my little boy’s amazing spirit. Maybe it was my sister’s visit that encouraged Christopher to want to celebrate, but somehow he found the strength to do so.   

Now, when I look back, I remember the hope and joy I felt that day and how we sought to live each moment.  

How could I have been so far off in my memory?  

Is this the case with other memories any of us may have? 

Do we just apply a general feeling to our past memories?  If it was a hard time, then do we mostly remember the struggles?  I won’t kid myself into denying how incredibly difficult that first month was.  But how did I forget the joy on that sunny afternoon?  Thankfully, I have other journals to remind me of the truth.   But this experience has helped me to realize how important it is to not only record our lives in picture but also in print.